Run the Risk

“Not that you aren’t cute now.” He ran the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “It’s there, even though you don’t want it to be.”

“It?”

“Your physical appeal. I know you’d rather I didn’t notice, but I can’t seem to help it.”

No, she didn’t want him to see much of anything at all. “I’m not cute.” She really wasn’t. Not like this. “I have mirrors.”

Leaning in for another kiss, he murmured, “If you give me a chance, I can convince you.”

He was soooo tempting. “A chance…how?”

His mouth brushed the corner of hers. “Spend some time with me. We can do dinner out and a movie, or nothing at all. Your choice.”

“But you want to have sex again?” She could care less about the other stuff, but the physical intimacy—she craved a repeat performance.

His mouth quirked. Then he laughed. “Yeah, I wouldn’t object to it.” He traced a fingertip over her jaw, her chin and down her throat. “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, you know. We can mix it up a little.”

The way he looked at her, almost as if he meant it, as if he really did think her cute, had her drowning in need. She drew in necessary oxygen—and her cell phone buzzed in her purse.

Rowdy.

Oh, God, she had to get away from Logan, and fast. She didn’t know if Rowdy was watching them right now, and she didn’t know if Logan realized her phone was on vibrate. But she’d taken enough chances for one day.

She opened the door and slid off the seat. “Sorry, but I do need to go, and no, I don’t want you to wait for me. Please don’t argue with me, Logan. I want to walk. I need the fresh air.” And then, because that all felt so abrupt and maybe even unkind, she added, “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

Confusion narrowed his eyes. “That was an awful lot, said awfully quick.”

“Logan, please.”

He searched her face, scowled darkly, and nodded. “All right. If you’re sure.”

“I am. Thank you.” She reached for her groceries, but he stopped her.

“I’ll take them home. You can get them from me later.”

Rather than debate with him, she agreed. “Okay, fine.”

“And, Sue?”

She detested that stupid name more each day. “Yes?”

“You’ll answer my questions for me? Tonight at dinner, I mean.”

Right. Rubbers, treadmill and cuteness. She could handle that. “Okay.”

He smiled. “Tonight then.”

She hurried off—forgetting, again—to shuffle her feet.

Rowdy would have her head before this was over.

But if Logan got her body, well then, she’d consider it a fair trade-off.

CHAPTER SIX

NOW THAT PEPPER HAD WALKED away, Rowdy relaxed. What the hell did Logan Stark want with his sister? Through the binoculars, Rowdy watched her cross the parking lot and enter the relative safety of the department store.

Was he missing something?

No, he didn’t miss anything, especially when it came to women, and most definitely not when it concerned his troublesome sister.

Maybe Logan was after something other than the usual.

He brought his gaze back to the neighbor. Sitting there in his truck, Logan Stark peered around as if he felt Rowdy’s attention. Huh. Perceptive bastard.

Finally the neighbor put his truck in gear and drove away.

Stowing the binoculars in the glove box, Rowdy got out of his car, locked it up and pocketed the keys. The bar he’d chosen to use for surveillance had an ideal location. With his binoculars he could see all the way up the road to the apartment building, as well as the grocery and small strip mall—basically any place his sister was likely to go.

While debating his next move, he strode toward the bar. He noticed a “For Sale” sign crudely attached to the brick wall above a collapsing cardboard box of trash. Old papers, a few cans and a broken bottle had already spilled out. Hazardous.

He thought of Checkers, the upscale club Morton owned. Pricey liquor, chic decor, classy-looking women and high-stakes activities. Checkers had been kept visually pristine, but he’d bet his life that more filth had happened inside its walls than could ever occur in the back alleys of the town where he now kept his sister under wraps.

Checkers boasted three floors. It was the main floor where Rowdy had usually worked, overseeing lap dances, ensuring none of the ordinary men got too grabby or overstepped the services they’d paid for. More adventurous activity was reserved for the second floor and for men with deeper pockets. On the second floor, patrons could buy hand jobs, blow jobs and a variety of sex ranging from one partner to three.

Morton’s sprawling office was on the third floor, along with a private boardroom and other, smaller offices.

Rowdy had been paid well to know the difference in the clientele, to keep his mouth shut about illegal sex acts, and to alert the guards stationed at the upper levels whenever the law came calling.

It all ran smoothly, even in moments of chaos. And when it didn’t… Rowdy closed his eyes, not wanting to think about the city commissioner who’d been murdered. Jack Carmin had died at a young thirty-two—and Rowdy hadn’t done a damn thing about it.

Acid burned in his gut. Rumor had it that Morton would be expanding his enterprise into human trafficking. Rowdy knew he’d have to do something about that, and soon. But now, with Pepper’s admirer putting him on edge, he couldn’t act. He had to guarantee her safety first.